


Lean a Little Closer (Heavy on my Shoulder)

by foreverhermit



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Ficlet Collection, Ficlets, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-11
Updated: 2015-11-25
Packaged: 2018-02-04 07:42:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1771150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foreverhermit/pseuds/foreverhermit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of drabbles starring Merlin and Gwaine</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. shameless Aladdin reference

**Author's Note:**

> working title: GWAINE AND MERLIN 5EVAH

Gwaine should probably admit that he has a problem: he can’t, _won’t_ ever say no to Merlin.

“Yeah, okay,” he says, grabbing a hold of Merlin’s outstretched hand. “You know I do.”

Merlin nods, smile flashing quickly across his face—grateful, nervous. He squeezes Gwaine’s leather-gloved hand. “On your mark.”

Gwaine barely spares a glance behind him, the sound of heavy-booted footsteps racing up the tower staircase. “Ready.”

The door bursts open with a crash.

“Go!”

They take off running. For all of his skinniness Merlin is a fast runner; Gwaine feels almost clumsy in comparison, clinging to Merlin’s hand like a child. They don’t have that far to go. They reach the ledge at the same time, but Merlin is quicker to heave himself up and over the battlement. Gwaine feels himself falling after him, eyes closed and yelling for all he’s worth (which, arguably, isn’t much, so maybe he yells for Merlin, too).

The landing knocks all the air and sense out of him, and he probably would have fallen further if Merlin wasn’t still holding on. It takes some moments before he regains his awareness, scrabbling at the hard, scaled, _moving_ thing below him. He’s only distantly aware of Merlin thanking the _whatever_ it is they’re riding.

Gwaine feels the brisk wind throwing back his hair, sees the clouds buffeted back by _giant lizard wings_. He stares at Merlin, who is seemingly trying to get comfortable between ridges of _spikes_.

Merlin twists in his seat. “I told you to trust me,” he half-shouts over the roar of wind. He’s neither flippant nor proud, just... waiting?

Gwaine settles in behind him, wrapping his one arm around Merlin’s stomach and holds on to the spike in front of his most surprising friend. “Aye, I do,” he replies, and feels the tension shift a little in Merlin’s spine. “Now, get me down before I lose my breakfast.”


	2. Merlin and the PotC franchise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> slight more-than-platonic feelings in this, if you squint. also, reincarnation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'll write that pirates!au one day. there will be lots of buckaneer butt sexems, lemme tell you.

“See anything you like?” he asks, sharp smile skirting on the edge of playful.

The roar of the port comes back into focus: fisherman and merchants and sailors yelling, birds squawking, the creaking of boats rocking on the waves crashing against the pier, the general cacophony of lives lived in chaos and driven by mercantilism.  

Merlin smiles backs, tired and warm. “I knew it would take you the longest.”

Gwaine’s eyebrows tick up, his face shadowed by a ridiculous hat with a wide brim. His eyes never lose their twinkle. “Been watching me a while, eh?”

“More like waiting for you,” Merlin replies. He's hundreds of years late, but Merlin's not complaining.

Gwaine chuckles like he’s taken aback and charmed at the same time, shocked at this stranger’s forwardness, no doubt; but being over several centuries in age Merlin has come to learn a thing or two about human interaction, love, and companionship. In fact, it helped put a few past things into perspective. For one thing, Gwaine likes to flirt; it’s one of the quickest ways to get his attention.

“Do I know you?” He squints in the bright Caribbean sun, even under his hat.

It’s the question they all ask.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin is hurt. Gwaine has to explain himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tagged: super protective arthur, gwaine messes up, i am not a medical doctor, king has a quick temper, but nothing he says can compare to how bad gwaine feels, i am such a fucking sap for over-emotional relationships someone take this keyboard from me, also APPLES

"Out of the way! Out of the way!"

The pounding of hooves on packed dirt and cobblestone just barely drowned out the surprised yelps and cries by some of Camelot’s residents as they dodged the charging stead of one of the finest Round Table brethren.

"Out of the way, move!"

A barrel was knocked on its side, its contents—apples—spilling out into the street. One vendor threw his fabric wares into the air in fright. Another dove aside into a nearby pile of hay.

"Are ya daft?! I said, _move!_ "

Strolling down a long, marble corridor, Gwen happened upon the strange sounds coming from town, the ruckus floating threw the arched openings in the hall looking outside. Curious, she peered out one window towards the marketplace. Unable to see the source, she quickly paced down the corridor and in a matter of minutes, she descended the main stairs in the open courtyard.

The horse raced towards her at a frightening speed. The rider, a knight, pulled back on the reins, slowing the poor creature with a might pull. Gwaine, she recognized as the distance between them gradually shortened. The horse stilled completely, well-trained and stood like a statue. _Only Gwaine. But where—_

Her thoughts broke off when with no small amount of alarm she registered the prone figure thrown over the neck of the horse. She grabbed the excess of her gown and hurried to them.

Gwaine jumped off the saddle. A stable boy was already holding the reins when Gwen neared in hearing distance.

“What happened?” she asked. There was brown and red decorating Gwaine’s chest. It might have looked like his mail had gone to rust. “How badly was he—oh, Merlin!”

"No time!" Gwaine hefted Merlin’s unconscious body onto his shoulder. A few sentries were already jogging closer to assist; but Gwaine seemed uninjured and Merlin was a wisp of a thing. "Need to get him to Gaius."

"Let the guards take the horse," she told the stable boy. "Send word ahead to the court physician. Hurry!" He took off running.

Gwaine wasted no time following, albeit at a more careful pace, Merlin’s head bobbing along against his back. Gwen kept up behind him.

* * *

"How long will he be out?" Gwaine chewed his lip until it bled, staring down at Merlin’s pale profile.

"A day," Gaius intoned sadly, "perhaps more from the blood loss." He smoothed the fold of blanket near his ward’s shoulder. "He certainly won’t be working again until he can properly stand."

"Arthur will need to be told," Gwen muttered, stroking Merlin’s bangs from his forehead, subtly checking his temperature. A little too cold.

Gwaine scowled briefly, worriedly, before looking imploringly to Gwen.

"Of course, he will need witness testimony to the events," the queen said.

Gwaine sighed heavily. He glanced down at the patient-filled cot and swallowed his guilt.

* * *

"Come."

Gwaine opened the door to Arthur’s chambers slowly. He poked his head through the widening gap. “Sire?”

"Gwaine." He spotted the king leaning against his desk. Arthur turned away to gather some sheets of parchment. "I thought you were to return earlier."

Gwaine stepped into the room. “There was some trouble to the south.”

"Bandits?"

Yes. A lot of them. “What else?”

"Nothing you couldn’t handle, though, I’m sure." Arthur turned back to face him, a wry smile decorating his face. After a moment’s pause, however, it fell and twisted into a frown. "You’re hurt," he said, eyes trained on the blood smears staining Gwaine’s mail and clothing.

"No, I—" Gwaine searched for words. "It’s not mine."

Arthur straightened his stance. His brow was pinched with momentary confusion. “Where’s Merlin?” he asked. “He should have reported back to me with you. It was _his_ bloody errand.”

Gwaine winced at the choice of words, but kept quiet.

"Gwaine," his king said lowly, almost cautiously, "where is my manservant?"

"He, sire—"

"Whose blood is that?"

"Gaius is treating him right now," Gwaine blurted, feeling like the words and breath had been snatched right out of him.

"What happened?" Arthur demanded.

"Bandits, Arthur," he explained, stumbling over his words. "They chased him. I found him just after, but they already—"

"You left him?!" Color had risen in his face. Anger, Gwaine thought distantly.

"I was getting us some food! I was gone only a minute." Despite his need to explain himself, he did not feel any less at fault. He squeezed his hand into a fist, felt the leather of his glove strain and constrict. "It wasn’t a very welcome-looking place; I wouldn’t send Merlin in alone."

"No," Arthur said coldly. "You would rather abandon him out in the open. For some godforsaken _tavern_." He snarled on the last word.

"I’m sorry, sire."

Arthur shook his head, his golden crown sitting heavily on top. ”I sent you to protect him, because you _asked_ _me to_. One man, Gwaine, that was your charge. One skinny little manservant and you couldn’t even do that.”

The knight swallowed and bowed his head. He couldn’t look his king, his friend in the eye.

He heard a soft sigh. “How bad are his injuries?”

"Bolt to the back of the thigh," Gwaine recited, eyes still to the floor, hair falling in front of his face. "I pulled it out and tried to stop the bleeding best I could but… Gaius says he should be awake by tomorrow." Not a lie, exactly.

"Any sign of fever?"

"No, sire. Just symptoms of blood loss."

He dared to sneak a glance at Arthur. He didn’t seem quite so angry or distressed, but more or less resigned. Restrained. Tired.

"I’ll check in on—with Gaius later, then," Arthur said, mostly to himself. He stepped back to his desk and sat down.

"Of course." Gwaine made a motion to leave, bowing to his king.

"Wait," Arthur called. His fingers were interlaced in front of him on the desk. "I understand that you and Merlin are good friends," he said, "and I know that you are taking this much harder than whatever I say on the matter. However…" He paused.

"Sire?"

"Friendship is no cause for shirking responsibility." Arthur stared straight ahead, hard, at the knight. “I am restricting you from all patrols and rescue missions with less than two other trained fighters until further reconsideration.”

"But," Gwaine sputtered. "But you can’t—"

“ _Furthermore_ , from this point on, if you cannot maintain a sense of duty both in the field and in court around Merlin, you will not be permitted to assist on small parties in which he is included. You will not be allowed to travel or spend more than two days ride from Camelot with him unless in a party of five or more, understood?”

Gwaine’s teeth clicked closed. “Yes, sire.”

The king nodded. “You have my leave then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think this was a prompt i answered at some point, but i don't really remember. who am i. what year is it.


	4. A Scar, a Star

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> modern au / reincarnation au / slight magic reveal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like the idea of Merlin being individually reunited with Gwen and the knights before Arthur finally rises. This is a clip of Merlin and Gwaine's reunion.

Merlin follows the line of the scar with his eyes, starting at the razor edge of Gwaine’s sternum, looping around the muscle between his neck and shoulder and then down the slope of his shoulder blades. The shiny pink stroke barely brushes his tattoo—a five-pointed star in the center of his back—the skin there blacker than night.

“Dishonorably discharged,” Gwaine admits, like that fact is a badge all its own.

“What happened?” he asks. They speak lowly.

Gwaine grins, his dark eyes feral in the dimness of the bedroom, lighted by his only lamp. “I don’t like to follow orders. Apparently.”

“Apparently.”

Gwaine shrugs, winces. It’s the shoulder.

Without a second thought, Merlin carefully reaches out and wraps his hand around it. He lets his magic seep out of his palm, searching and warming. He finds the strained muscle, the torn and scabbed over joint tissue hidden beneath the skin and in the corners of the socket. Healing was never his strong suit, but he’s gotten better over the years. He at least knows how to relieve pain. With some regular treatments, or maybe with a poultice of some kind, he could maybe regenerate new tissue for him.

He finishes the unspoken spell, watches the gold fade from his eyes, reflected in Gwaine’s. They’re watery, his eyes, but with none of the regular awe or surprise. He looks happy.

Gwaine holds Merlin’s arm where it is. He turns his head, much easier now, kissing the knuckles of Merlin's hand where it lays curved against his shoulder. Merlin feels a swooping sensation in his stomach, a warmth spread in his face—as if they weren’t already sitting on Gwaine’s bed, bare-faced and barely recovered from kissing and holding one another and finding each other again, _at last, at last._

“I never told you…”

Gwaine smiles beatifically, tears catching in the lines at the corners of his eyes. “You never had to,” he says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo, I have headcanons about modern!Gwaine growing up as an Army brat, moving around from place to place, until one fateful day his father is killed in combat and then things go downhill from there. So downhill, that one of his only options to go to school and not end up on the streets is to enlist. But of course, he doesn't really take orders well. So then in some tricky business he ends up doing something both stupid and brave, gets injured, and is quietly kicked out. Then Merlin finds him.  
> The tattoo is a reference to "Sir Gawain and the Green Knight."


	5. Bawdy Language

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you're drunk

Merlin huffs, his arms protesting under the weight of his charge. "You could," he suggests with no small amount of bite, "I dunno, _help,_ Gwaine."

The knight in question laughs, loudly, the sound of it echoing down the empty hallway. As if to rub salt in the wound--thought doubtless, he does so unconsciously--he shifts even more of his weight onto Merlin, clutching at his bony shoulder with tight, drunken affection. "Merlin, my friend, I cannot, I'm afraid."

Merlin rolls his eyes. "Oh, I'm sure."

"As am I, I'm afraid."

He puffs out a sigh. "Gwaine, don't you ever tire of your own overindulgence?"

"Never, my dear." Then, in what he must consider to be his most sage-like voice, he adds, "One can never have too much of life, after all."

"Your liver would disagree."

Gwaine makes a friendly sound of dismissal in the back of his throat. "Bahhh, I don't just refer to the spirits, my friend, however delightful they may be. I speak of all life. Of fighting and traveling. Seeing, feeling, and being. Adventure! Friendship! Loss—and love."

Merlin muses this over, or does a good job pretending he does. "You are oddly eloquent when you drink, Gwaine."

“In Mercia,” Gwaine says, only hiccuping twice, “they called me a poet. Gwaine the Poet!"

"Wouldn't that be 'Gwaine the Poetic'?"

"What? Maybe. I dunno." He burps a little, and the confusion clears from his face. "I even wrote a book.”

Merlin feels his eyebrows raise at that. “Of what?” he asks, incredulous.

“Oh, you know,” Gwaine says airily, “things like stories, poems, sonnets, that sort of thing.”

“Things _like_ stories and poems? Or stories and poems?” Merlin distinguishes.

Gwaine's lips flicker into a grin. “Like?” he answers.

The smile, Merlin realizes, isn’t coy or cunning; it's the smile of the all-too-innocent. “What was it, Gwaine?”

“Ah, well…”

“Was it a book of limericks?”

“Yeah.”

“ _Dirty_ limericks?”

“…Yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well this was fun. incidentally, the chapter title was a literal stroke of genius.


End file.
